


Dribs and Drabbles

by suilven



Category: Dragon Age
Genre: Drabble Collection
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-02-28
Updated: 2012-02-28
Packaged: 2017-10-31 21:03:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 5,895
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/348345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/suilven/pseuds/suilven
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Various morsels and musings related to Dragon Age. Humor, angst, miscellaneous characters, and other assorted shenanigans.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**I. Morrigan**

He had once been hers.

Tonight, in the darkness of his desperation, he had been hers once more. The way out she offered had been too tempting, as she had known it would be.

At the height of their passion, it not her name that emerged from his choked groans, but the bard's. The one he had turned to when she drove him away.

Alone in the rumpled sheets, she let the tears fall in great gasping sobs; a weakness she would never admit to in the light of day.

He was no longer hers, but she was still his.

* * *

**II. Mahariel**

The petals of the rose were soft beneath her fingertips. Such a strange gift (she thought that's what this was) from the  _shem_.

He had been shy and bumbling (even more so than usual), scarcely able to meet her eyes as he clutched the blossom in his hands. The words had poured out of him like the waters of a stream, bubbling over the rocks.

Yet, there had been a flutter inside of her as his hands brushed against hers. She didn't know what it meant, but she blushed and bumbled a little too.

Perhaps what he had was contagious…

* * *

**III. Oghren**

There had to be more somewhere. He rummaged through the Warden's pack once she disappeared into the trees with the little pike-twirler. They would be gone for a while, he knew.

Sod it all! Where was it? His fingers closed on a long glass neck, cool and comforting as a mother's touch on a feverish brow. He nearly wept with relief.

The fire crackled fitfully as he sat down with a thump to consume his prize.

Only when he had reached the bottom of the bottle did Branka's presence finally recede.

She would be back. There had to be more.

* * *

**IV. Anora**

She knew he strayed—how could she not? The servant's whispers and his eyes told her all she needed to know.

She tried to be more beautiful, more intelligent, more perfect than the others he pursued, but it made no difference. She gave him everything, but it wasn't enough. It was never enough.

More blood on her smalls. Another failure.

She said nothing, even when he slipped from their bed, thinking her asleep.

Her pillow swallowed the screams of her grief, the one thing she would never share with him, in the hope that he would love her. Some day.

* * *

**V. Cailan**

Her presence is stifling. Cool eyes always watching, judging.

It's a relief to escape, though he knows it hurts her, to find comfort elsewhere. They accept him as he is and he welcomes the release they provide, no matter how brief the respite.

His guilt lies heavily on him, like the winter blankets draped over them in their marriage bed. Her breathing grows deeper. He grows more restless. As he slips away, he hears the first sob before she buries her face in her pillow.

He pauses and listens for a moment, aching, before closing the door softly behind him.

* * *

**VI. Prompt: 'Banana'**

"Mine is the longest," Alistair said, glancing over at Zevran.

"That may be, my friend, but mine is thicker than yours."

"Parshaara. Mine is both longer  _and_  thicker. This argument is unnecessary."

Elissa rolled her eyes. "Boys."

Leliana smiled. "I can stop them. Watch this."

She strolled over to the log where the trio of men were sitting and calmly peeled her banana. With a wink at Elissa, she slowly took the entire length into her throat before removing it with a giggle.

"Done now?" She nibbled the tip as she walked away.

"Vashedan," Sten whispered.

Alistair and Zevran nodded.

* * *

**VII. Anders**

There was nothing but running.

When he was free, he ran in the real world, the long grasses tickling his legs, the wind burning his cheeks.

When he was trapped, he ran in the Fade, where there was no breeze, no life, no hope.

They beat him, threatened him, locked him away. They didn't understand that he wasn't deterred, that it drove him harder to succeed.

One day, they would kill him, but that would not be today. He was running, free, his heart bursting with the joy of it.

There was nothing but running… until they caught him again.

* * *

**VIII. Dog**

He liked this human. Her bag always had plants that smelled nice. Some of them made his tongue tingle, but he ate those ones as well, just to be polite.

She liked him, too. Her eyes were warm, even when her tone was sharp, and her hand always dropped to that place behind his ear when he sat on her foot.

He did not like her quite so much when she was a  _not-human_ , as there were no treats, and sometimes she growled and showed her teeth.

Nibbling delicately on a sprig of elfroot, he waits for her to return.

* * *

**IX. Hurlock**

The song hurts. It pulls inside.  _Come. Follow._

He tried to not listen, but it was too strong. It thrummed in his veins and made his muscles twitch.  _Find me. I am lost._

He digs. They all dig. His brothers. He wants to stop, tries to stop, but the song is punishing and relentless.  _So close. A little further._

When they reach the great dragon's chamber, the compulsion is so intense that his bones resonate with its power. They surge forward, unable to resist, crashing against the great form in a wave of worship.

The Archdemon roars and they obey.

* * *

**X. Sandal**

They think he is simple, and he is.

As simple as a raindrop crystallizing into a perfectly symmetrical snowflake.

As simple as the cliffs along the shore, battered endlessly, but still tall, unyielding, and eternal.

As simple as a blade of grass bowing before the onslaught of wind and never breaking.

As simple as a new life, tiny cells clustering—a heart, then a heartbeat, where once there was emptiness.

He is simple. They are right. But, he has a purpose, just like every raindrop, every stone, every plant, every creature.

Life itself is an enchantment, and he knows it.

* * *

**XI. Prompt: What would happen if Duncan had some kind of Grey Warden brain freeze, went on a drunken bender and ended up recruiting the most unlikely Warden/s ever? No restrictions on the laws of space and time. (from another Cheeky Monkey challenge)**

Duncan belted back another goblet of Antivan brandy. The new recruit had refused, so Duncan courteously downed his share as well.

"You see, the Wardens are very important." He tapped his finger on the recruit's nose. "We fight darkspawn. We stop Blights. We buy all sorts of griffin paraphernalia. Boosts the economy, you see."

The recruit yawned.

"Hmm, that's not enough for you? Well, we have a lot of secret rituals and there's the fabled Grey Warden stamina… very popular with the ladies."

The door burst open and Anders appeared.

"Andraste's arse, Duncan, what are you doing to my cat?"

* * *

**XII. First Knight**

She was trembling. His fingers trailed along the curve of her jaw and he pulled her close, brushing his lips against her forehead.

"Are you sure?" he asked.

"I'm sure." Her hands came up around his neck and tangled in his hair. She tugged him down, claiming his mouth.

"I love you." The warmth of her breath in his ear made him shudder as her body pressed into his, so unbelievably soft.

"And, I love you." He kissed her, deep and longing, until he was trembling, too.

He was hers. She was his.

Maker's breath, he  _was_  a lucky man.

* * *

**XIII. The Deep Roads**

The air in the Deep Roads smells like rot and horror and decay. The scent clings to her tongue, making her gag. The shadows here are as deep as the ocean, unspeakable monsters lurking in the black depths, waiting, hungry.

She will die here, most Wardens do, he tells her.

Scuffing her feet along the cavernous floors, she wonders what it will be like to come here alone, to enter willingly into her tomb.

It will not be quick or painless, she knows, but a violent burst of red.

She will not go easily. The walls will remember her name.


	2. Theirin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This was for the 10 minute Cheeky Monkey challenge. Think of an idea (no writing yet!). Set your timer or whatever for 10 minutes. Write. When the 10 minutes is up, stop. Take a minute to check for typos only. Post what you wrote.

I bury the dead at Ostagar. I will give my brothers peace before I die. I bury them all… every bone, every scrap of armor. The remnants of darkspawn I throw on to the pile. It is immense now; a testament to how they were broken, though not here.

Now, it's just me. The last. I should have been the one to slay the great dragon, take the final blow, but she wouldn't let me. She was always stubborn that way. That silly tilt to her chin and you had already lost. There's a memorial to her, at Weisshaupt, though I doubt I'll ever see it. I have all the memories I need right here.

In the night, when the wind howls over the broken stone, she comes to me. I can smell the sweetness of her hair, feel the warmth of her breath as she whispers to me. I cling to the tatters of what she was until the dawn breaks. Then, I dig.

When my Calling comes, the Deep Roads can keep their secrets. I'll just dig a hole right here beside my brothers and crawl in, pulling the dirt up to my chin like a blanket.

It doesn't matter where I die.

I'm already dead.


	3. The Promise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This was for the 10 minute Cheeky Monkey challenge. Think of an idea (no writing yet!). Set your timer or whatever for 10 minutes. Write. When the 10 minutes is up, stop. Take a minute to check for typos only. Post what you wrote.

The scent of the Deep Roads was rotten and sour, like the taste of darkspawn flesh permeating his very being, and it was hard not to glance anxiously from side to side as the shadows coalesced into puddles of ink. He never thought he would miss the sky, but the darkness here had no stars, no moon, no hope. She was afraid, too, though she would never admit it.

She'd made him promise, before they'd crossed through the great stone doors of Orzammar, that he wouldn't let her be taken alive. He'd protested, but she'd insisted, begged even. He'd never seen her beg before. How could he not agree, even though she'd clutched him tightly and wept after he'd finally given his assent?

He loved her, although he'd never been able to say the words aloud. She was his everything. Always had been.

Together, they walked through the shadows, swallowed up by rock, ever deeper into the belly of the beast where the nightmares roamed. They would come for her—they could sense her, she'd said—though he had no idea how that worked. 'Grey Warden thing' was all she had ever said about it.

She was right.

They came in droves, hungry and mindless, desperate for death. She fought, her brow creased as she concentrated. He loved the way her blades worked seamlessly with each other in a glorious dance as she pushed them back. Somehow, his own skills seemed less than adequate next hers, but he was pleased to see that the pile of darkspawn around his own feet rivaled her own.

Outnumbered. Overwhelmed. Just as she'd said they would be. With the look she gave him, he knew it was time. He had promised, and now he must obey. Barreling through the ranks that surrounded her, he sunk his teeth into her throat, her flesh pure and unsullied. He wished he could have said he was sorry as the light died in her eyes, but they carved him down, too, as she fell.

He'd done as she'd asked.

He was a good boy.


	4. Survivor

She is running.

The clan must be told, the sooner the better. Who these outsiders are, she doesn't know, but it doesn't really matter; what matters is that she knows  _why_  they are coming. It's the same reason they always come: to slaughter.

She runs faster.

Her mother is waiting near the edge of the settlement—she'd been gone far too long already—and they rush to tell the others. The youngest ones are pulled from their parents, ushered away by an elder to what they hope will be a safe place. The littlest ones look back, their eyes wide with fear, but the elder keeps them moving until they vanish from sight. This is the first time that she's been old enough to stay behind, and she's more than a little afraid.

She hides on the edge of the settlement with her parents and older brother, their presence making her feel slightly calmer. Everyone else is hiding, too. She can't help herself from fidgeting nervously while they wait, earning her a sharp glance from her father.

At last, she can hear them getting closer, laughing and joking, weapons balanced loosely on their shoulders as they walk. She finds she's unintentionally holding her breath. Her fear is like a bubble inside her, growing larger as they begin to methodically search, bending down to study the tracks she's knows they've all left behind.

There is a shout and her stomach drops. They've found someone.

She closes her eyes to shut out the carnage, but she can't block out the sounds, the reek of fear. She can't seem to stop shaking, even though it could give  _them_  away, too. She cowers against her mother's side as the sickening cacophony finally falls silent, only the voices of the outsiders muttering in the stillness. Who will be next? How many more will they kill before they move on?

When she opens her eyes again and peeks out, they're desecrating the fallen bodies, searching for what, she doesn't know. As much as she doesn't want to look at the remains on the ground, she can't rip her gaze away.

She feels her mother tense beside her.

They're headed their way.

She fights down the mad rush of panic screaming at her to run.

Closer.

With a glance, she can see the fear in her brother's eyes, too, no matter how hard he's trying to hide it.

Closer.

They're going to be found. They're going to be cut open and gutted just like their neighbors, just like everyone. She's frozen with terror.

Suddenly, her parents—what are they doing?—leap out at the outsiders. She can't move. It all happens so fast. She watches the light fade in her mother's eyes as she falls and she can't take it anymore.

She runs.

She doesn't know where her brother is, where anyone is, but she can hear the outsiders behind her, gaining on her. Something strikes her from behind and there's a bolt of pain, but she knows she can't stop. She's sure it's all over when she hears her brother taunting them.

Hazarding a glance back, she sees that he's left their hiding place, too—the one they were supposed to never, ever leave, not until the outsiders were gone. With angry shouts, the outsiders drop back.

Her brother looks at her and she understands.

She runs.

oOoOo

She's not sure how many days have passed when she staggers back to the settlement, the wound in her back throbbing painfully. The survivors fuss over her, bringing her food, but all she notices is that her parents and brother aren't among them. Her aunt shoos the others way, takes her to where the bodies have been gathered and laid out, ready to be wrapped. She tentatively touches their cold forms before withdrawing, knowing what she has to do.

With a delicate movement, she draws out a thread of silk from her abdomen and winds the first strand over the broken remains of her brother. Her aunt stands vigil as she wraps him in soft strands that cling to each other, covering the horror of his final moments. When his shroud is complete, she turns to her mother and begins anew. Only once her father, too, is covered, does she collapse to the ground, exhausted, her eight legs failing her at last. Her aunt helps her up and they rejoin the others, an unearthly dirge rising from them all, filling the air of the Deep Roads with their lamentations.

Somehow, they will rebuild.

Somehow, she will survive.


	5. The New Recruit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From the Cheeky Monkey Challenge: What would happen if Duncan had some kind of Grey Warden brain freeze, went on a drunken bender and ended up recruiting the most unlikely Warden/s ever? No restrictions on the laws of space and time.

Duncan studied the man in front of him intently. He looked like a good sort, trustworthy. He reached for his mug and tipped it back, but there was nothing but foam left in the bottom. Empty again. If he ever caught the guy who was swiping his drinks, he was totally going to get it.

"One minute," he said. The man nodded.

Duncan lurched his way over to the barkeep. "Another pint, ser. Someone appears to have made off with my last one." He poked the man in the chest. "Again."

The barkeep shrugged. "Not my problem, mate." He slid a freshly filled flagon across the counter.

"Well, what good are you then?" Duncan slammed a few coins into the barkeep's outstretched palm. "Now, where was I? Oh, yes… the new recruit."

He tottered back to the table and sat down where the man was waiting patiently. He was clearly a bit drunk but, in all fairness, so was he, so he couldn't really hold it against the lad.

"So, you want to join the Wardens, do you?"

He paused, and the man nodded again.

"Silent type, I like that. Well," he leaned over conspiratorially, "it's not easy. I can't tell you anything yet. Not until after the… thing I can't tell you about. What do you say?"

Another nod.

"Great! Let's drink to it! The Wardens!" They raised their pints together and drained them.

"Duncan? Duncan, are you here?" The voice was familiar… Ah, Alistair!

He stood up. "Over here, my boy. Look, I've found us another recruit! You won't be the order's most junior member for much longer."

Alistair approached, wrinkling his nose at the stale reek of alcohol wafting from his mentor. "I think we need to get you back to camp."

"Good idea!" Duncan attempted to whisper, but only succeeded in slobbering a little on Alistair's ear. "Then, we can put him through the Joining right away." Duncan gestured at the table.

Alistair looked over and sighed. "Duncan, does your new recruit have a beard?"

"Yes."

"And, does he have an earring in his right ear?"

"No, his left. What's with the crazy questions? He's sitting right there. Look." The man was gone. Duncan turned around slowly, nearly toppling over. "Hey, where did he go?"

"Maybe you should sit down."Alistair massaged his forehead.

"I don't see why that's necessary, but all right." Duncan slumped down into his chair and suddenly perked up. "There he is! The new recruit! Not sure how he managed that, but no matter... Hey! He's brought a friend. And, he looks just like you, Alistair!"

"You don't say… Well, let's get going now. The, uh, camp is under attack. By darkspawn. Loads of them. That's why I had to come here to get you."

"Why didn't you say so? These new recruits will definitely prove useful then. You lads ready?"

The swarthy man nodded. His blond friend smacked himself in the forehead. Duncan felt a stab of pity. They couldn't all be Warden material, he supposed. But, the Joining would sort that out, so there was no need for him to worry about it.

"Great! Let's go!" Duncan charged enthusiastically through the tavern towards the door.

Alistair sighed again. Why was this always  _his_  job? Next time, he would have to tip the barkeep a bit extra to cover up the mirror. It would be worth it.


	6. Ladies Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I seriously, seriously apologize in advance for this one. Seriously. My hubby's dream pairing is Morrigan/Leliana. *eyeroll* For his birthday last year, I agreed to write him some smut between these two and I just couldn't write it in a serious vein, no matter how hard I tried. Instead, he got this.
> 
> Special thanks to Enaid Aderyn on FFNet for her help with the plot outline and I also feel the need to incriminate someone else along with me. ;)
> 
> I'm sorry. That's all I can say. Yeah.

**Part 1: Foreplay**

The crowd at Tapster's Tavern was in top form, only a few more pints short of a riot. All in all, a typical evening. At a table in the back corner, Dick Cocksland, noble-cum-Grey Warden extraordinaire, sat chugging yet another flagon of ale. Leliana, a buxom red-head with a fetish for footwear, was seated to his left where he had a rather fantastic view of her voluminous jugs. To his right was Morrigan, a raven-haired beauty whose top left little to the imagination. Those should be standard issue for all the ladies, Dick thought with a dreamy smile as his manhood stood up and waved to the adoring crowd. As his thoughts continued, however, the image of Wynne in similar attire made his cock shrivel like a campfire weenie that had been dropped in the flames. He shuddered.

"So, Morrigan, tell me again." Leliana was pretty damn smashed and her words were slurred. "Do you believe in the Maker?"

Morrigan took a sip of her tonic water and gave the bard an aggravated sigh. "We have been over this before. Surely, you do not want to get into this again?"

Leliana reached across the table earnestly and took the witch's hand in hers, despite Morrigan's efforts to pull away. Dick watched her pert nipples rub against the surface of the table, pebbling like Shale's toes beneath the silky fabric of her dress. "But, how can you not believe in Him when He has clearly blessed you with the most fantastic assets?"

"I am afraid I do not follow your meaning." Morrigan finally succeeded in wrenching her hand away.

Leliana pouted for a moment and then inched her chair closer to Morrigan's with the subtlety of a hurlock. Morrigan was trying to pointedly ignore her now, taking large swigs of her water and staring in any direction but at her. Dick grinned, his trouser snake slithering back to life in anticipation of the bard's next move.

"Shall I make myself clearer?" Leliana said in a drunken attempt at a whisper that made heads turn from three or four neighboring tables. She slid her hand on to Morrigan's thigh. "You're from the Wilds. You must be intimately familiar with… bushes."

Morrigan slapped her hand away. "I am done with this ridiculousness." She stood up and slammed her cup down. "Good night."

Leliana rose too, nearly taking the table over with her in the process. "No, Morrie, don't go. Things were just starting to get fun."

Morrigan gave her a look that would have slain the Archdemon on the spot. "Morrie? Did you just call me 'Morrie'? You, impudent Orlesian whore!"

Dick massaged himself through his breeches. Oh, yeah… Now we were getting somewhere.

The witch pointed her staff at Leliana. "If you ever call me that again, I will turn you into a toad faster than you can say—"

Leliana lurched into Morrigan and grabbed her face with both hands, pulling her into a passionate face-sucking kiss. Dick nearly came right there.

Morrigan shoved her away violently just as the bard managed to cop a feel, exposing one of her mouthwatering nipples. Leliana fell back and hit her head against the edge of the table landing on the floor in a compromising heap. After a moment, drunken snores emerged from her bee-stung lips that would have put Dog's to shame. The witch tucked in her boob and then retreated up the stairs to her room, huffing and muttering as she went.

Dick sighed and his manhood leaked a sympathetic salty tear. Looked like he was going to be smiting the pink apostate on his own again tonight.

**Part 2: Intercourse**

Morrigan sat in his room at Redcliffe Castle, watching him expectantly and stealing glances at his junk when he wasn't looking. She'd proposed something he'd never expected; he just had to stick his loop in her hole and then no one had to die when they killed the Archdemon tomorrow. Sounded like an easy win-win there. But, he couldn't help thinking; if she wanted this  _that_  badly then maybe she would be willing to do more than that. So much more. He raised an eyebrow suggestively.

"All right, witch. I'll give you a taste of my girthy sausage but, first, I'll need you to do something for me."

Relief washed over Morrigan's face. "Of course. What is it that you wish?"

"I want to see you and Leliana finish what you started at Tapster's." Dick licked his lips.

Morrigan's eyes narrowed. "Absolutely not. 'Tis utterly out of the question."

"Oh? I guess you really don't want that god-baby after all." He sighed plaintively. "Now what am I going to do with this?" Dick cupped the giant bulge of his erect package while Morrigan watched him intently. She threw up her hands in disgust.

"Fine. If 'tis necessary to ensure your cooperation, then I will do this… thing."

Excellent.

Dick sauntered down the hall to Leliana's room where he found her already half-way through a bottle of Antivan brandy. He heaved her up by the arm and dragged her back to his room, ignoring her protests. He shoved her through the door and she stopped short at the sight of Morrigan standing there. Dick bolted the door behind them with a grin.

"Okay, Morrigan, would you like to tell Leliana what you had in mind?"

Morrigan gave him a look of fiery disdain that made his cock twitch. She looked at the bard and muttered something.

"I'm sorry, what was that?" Dick asked. "We couldn't hear you."

The witch gave him another stony stare. "Leliana, I would like it very much if you would," she sighed, "eat my hot, wet pussy." Dick wished he could high-five himself.

Leliana squealed and threw herself at Morrigan. She kissed her vigorously while Morrigan looked like a fish, gasping for air. Finally, she gave in and returned the bard's sweet, sweet lovin'. Oh, yeah. Dick stripped off his clothes and settled into a chair to watch the show.

Leliana pushed aside Morrigan's skimpy top and suckled on one of her nipples. Morrigan arched back with a moan, tangling her fingers in the bard's shiny, red locks. They pulled at their clothing as they nipped and sucked at each other until everything lay in tatters on the floor.

Dick stroked his white-hot member as he devoured them with his eyes. Leliana's nipples were like raspberries with cream, a perfect compliment to Morrigan's chocolate buds. His gaze trailed downward and he groaned, pulling at himself like a mabari with a bone. Leliana's mound was as bare as a baby nug, smooth and pink, while Morrigan's… well, witch of the wilds may have been a bit of an understatement. Still, it was mighty hot.

The bard pushed Morrigan down to the bed and Dick adjusted the angle of his chair so he still had a good view of the action. Leliana licked her way down Morrigan's body, humming a jaunty tune as she went, and then nuzzled her face into the witch's furry muff with a protracted exclamation of delight.

"Oh, my!" Morrigan said in surprise as the bard's lyrical tongue began making music against her gaping love hole. The delicate slurping sounds, not unlike eating a bowl of Amaranthine clam chowder, were driving Dick mad with desire.

"So, ladies, did you want me to join you?" he asked in his sexiest voice.

Morrigan merely moaned although Leliana managed to lift her head briefly, her lips dripping with feminine juices. "No thanks, we're good."

Dick bit back a mewl of impatience. He was so hard that he thought he was going to burst; a cooked sausage cracking its casing. Think of Oghren. Oghren and Wynne. Oghren's pubes probably looked like his beard, all covered in crumbs. Maybe with little braids on the side? That did it. He was back in control.

Leliana slid a finger inside the witch's wet slit and thrust it in and out in time with her continued assault on her nub. Morrigan was writhing now. "Oh, yes, more, don't stop."

Dick admired the view of Leliana's delicious ass, bouncing in time with her motions. At last, Morrigan screamed and Leliana sat up with a satisfied smirk. The witch lay there panting for a moment before pulling Leliana down and switching their positions on the bed.

"Your turn now," she said as she rubbed Leliana's deliciously mounded chest before bending down to bite down on one of her nipples.

The bard grasped at Morrigan's head, pushing her down to where her delicate clit throbbed in anticipation. She shrieked as Morrigan's tongue danced between her folds. "Oh, Morrigan, I've wanted this for so long."

Dick was at the brink again with the sounds Leliana was making. Morrigan's pink pussy was on full display as she bent over Leliana and his cock twitched like a diving rod aimed at her hot, wet core.

"Morrigan, I want to stick it in you so bad." If he touched himself again he was going to lose it.

She turned her head to glare it him briefly. "You will wait your turn, Warden."

Dick whimpered.

Morrigan lapped at Leliana ferociously until, at last, the bard bucked wildly under her determined mouth. "Oh, Maker, oh… Yes!" Her passionate cry echoed through the stone walls, likely waking everyone in the castle.

The witch looked at him, Leliana's glaze still coating her lips. "Come then, fill me with your seed."

Dick leapt from the chair like Alistair spotting a chunk of cheese. "Come to papa. Uh huh."

He jammed his massive cock inside her in one powerful thrust, filling her to the hilt with his heat.

"Oh, Dick, I had no idea you were so big," she breathed breathlessly.

"What comes, my friend?" he asked as he pulled back and thrust again. "All me, baby. Yeah."

He pumped into her once, twice, and then he came like a geyser, shooting his baby batter into her in thick, streaming gouts. It was the best orgasm of his entire life.

**Part 3: Afterglow**

Dick lay sated between his two lovely ladies, one hand resting on each creamy, white thigh.

"Oh, Dick," Morrigan's voice was a low purr, "I will never be able to take another man again without thinking about how your thick cock filled me so completely."

Leliana did that cute pout thing again that was so hot. "I never even got a chance to try it."

"Don't worry, baby, I'll be ready to go again in no time. See?" Dick's manhood was rising like a statue of Andraste in a Chantry courtyard. Leliana swooned.

"Tis unthinkable, his man-meat is all mine, you Orlesian trollop."

"Oh, come on, Morrie, I'm sure he wouldn't mind sharing with both of us. Would you, Dick?" She grasped his member and scrunched down to lick the tip like a lollipop.

Morrigan rolled over top of him, her succulent titties bouncing against his face on the way by, and pulled Leliana roughly up by the hair. They rolled together onto the floor in a tangle of limbs, hissing and clawing at each other. It wasn't long before Leliana's face was buried in Morrigan's mound and the witch was mewling and grinding herself against the bard's relentless tongue.

Dick took his dick lovingly in hand once more.

Oh, yeah.


	7. Sick Day

"Can I do anything for you, my Warden?"

"No, thank you. Well," Alim paused to sniffle, "perhaps some tea?"

Zevran bent down and pressed his cheek to the mage's forehead. "I am happy your fever seems to have finally broken at least." He stroked a few tendrils of hair aside and kissed his brow. "You had me worried."

Alim smiled weakly. "There's no need to worry. It's only a flu and even magic can do little for it. I'll be up and around in another day or two."

"Yes, but you never worry about anything. So, I must worry twice, for both of us." Zevran stood up gingerly, having spent too many hours in the past days kneeling at Alim's side. "Now, I will fetch your tea and you will rest."

As he ducked outside the tent, Wynne seemed to swoop from out of nowhere, pouncing on him before he'd even reached the fire. "How is he?"

Zevran shrugged, rubbing his hand across his unsurprisingly gritty eyes. "He is better than yesterday, but still quite weak. I think we will need to spend a few more days here before he will be strong enough to travel."

Wynne scowled. "That is unfortunate. Arl Eamon is expecting us in Denerim in three days." She tapped a finger against her lips. "There is a courier outpost a few hours away. Perhaps we could send word from there that we expect to be delayed."

Zevran nodded, emptying a packet of herbs into Alim's mug. "That would be sensible."

"Excellent. Alim can go after he's had his tea."

"Yes, Alim can—Alim can what? Are you serious?" He very nearly dropped the kettle.

"Of course. You do remember the decision that all official correspondence to the Arl was to come from Alim, to minimize the risks of treachery on Loghain's part and certain other… undesirables." She looked pointedly towards Morrigan's shelter.

He must have been dozing by that point in their past meetings with Arl Eamon; long, tedious affairs that made him want to curl up under the table.

"But, he is sick." Zevran looked at her strangely. "If this message needs to be taken, I will do it."

Wynne shook her head. "No, that won't do at all. We have an agreement, and the rules need to be followed."

"But, surely you see that sending him off riding for most of the day is going to make him even sicker, no?" He had recovered sufficiently that he was able to fill Alim's mug with steaming water, swirling it slightly as the herbs steeped. "We will be even later getting to Denerim if he becomes more ill than he already is."

She followed as he walked back towards his tent. "I understand, but think of how the Arl is going to react if we're late."

Zevran paused at the tent's entrance. "With all due respect, Wynne, I do not give a flying fuck about Arl Eamon and his expectations. The man is already slavering about putting our poor templar on the throne, with more than questionable motives for doing so. While he sits in his estate and nibbles bon bons, we are out here killing darkspawn and raising an army. If he expects us to do that on some sort of predetermined schedule, then he is more than welcome to kiss my ass." He thought for a moment, relishing Wynne's stunned silence. "Well, perhaps not that. Regardless, Alim is not going anywhere until he has recovered and you and your nattering about rules will be staying far away, yes?"

Wynne managed a shocked nod despite the fiery anger in her eyes.

"Good. Now, I am going to go give Alim his tea and you are going to go away."

Zevran lowered his head and stepped inside, cradling the hot mug between his hands. "I brought you your tea,  _querido_."

"Many thanks." Alim sat up slowly, his hands still shaky as he reached for the cup.

"Let me help." Zevran settled in behind him so Alim could lean against his chest as he drank. "Careful, it is still quite hot."

Alim sipped his tea, relaxing against the other man comfortably. "This is exactly what I needed. Thank you." He took another sip. "Did I hear Wynne? What did she want?"

Zevran kissed Alim's temple. "Nothing important. It is already taken care of."

Alim turned his head to kiss him gently. "What would I do without you?"

"You? You would be fine. The question is,  _querido_ , what would  _I_  do without you?"


End file.
